


Ditto

by orphan_account



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Arguing, Banter, Biting, Hate Sex, M/M, Wall Sex, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sal and Murr have hate sex at the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ditto

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impracticallytenderloined](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=impracticallytenderloined).



> Prompt came from this post: http://impracticallytenderloined.tumblr.com/post/149108207045/totalbullshark-impracticallytenderloined

“Murray, I swear to _god_.”

“You shouldn’t swear to god, Sal. It’s disrespectful.”

Murr grins and takes another bite of his sandwich. He smacks his lips together. Sal slams his laptop shut.

“I could crush you like a fucking bug. Seriously, like a little grimy bug under my shoe.”

Suddenly serious, Murr puts his sandwich down and leans forward across the table.

“Prove it.”

Things move quickly after that, and soon Sal is on the other side of the table, hands grabbing at Murr’s prep school outfit as he tries to escape, suddenly fearful that he’d finally pushed Sal too far. Sal gets a good grip over his right shoulder and under his left thigh, and he slams Murr into the wall furthest from the door. Murr’s back slams so solidly against the wall that he lets out an involuntary _oof_ as the breath was knocked out of him.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” Sal asks.

Murr whezes as he gets his breath back. Instinctually, he squeezes his thighs around Sal.

“Tell me you haven’t been dreaming of this all day.” 

Their kiss is barely that. It’s harsh and biting, but Murr loves it. He’d rather get treated like a rag doll than a porcelain vase anyway. Sal opens Murr’s shirt and quickly moves from his lips to his neck to leave a series of mottled marks all across his stupid soft skin.

“I want to wring your ferrety little neck right now.”

“Sal,” Murr moans. 

“Shut up. God, just shut up,” Sal murmurs into his collarbone.

“Come on, man,” he whines. “I’ll let you fuck me.”

Sal picks his head up and looks Murr right in the eyes.

“You’ll let me? Do you think you're some kind of fucking gift? As if this isn't something you've already done for everyone on Staten Island?”

Sal grabs for Murr’s belt, and Murr lets him before he undoes Sal’s button and zipper. Pants and underwear are yanked down, and hands begin to wander down, down, down. When Sal’s finally inside him, even Sal has trouble remembering why he was so mad before.

“It-it was because of my eating,” Murr stutters.

“I fucking hate you so much,” Sal says, but this time, there’s a hint of a smile.

Murr smirks.

“Ditto, motherfucker.”


End file.
